Jonas ground his teeth. “Not tonight.”
As the dealer passed out the cards, Levi did his best to ignore Jonas’s silent fury and horrifying smell so he could focus on the game. His hand wasn’t all that terrible, but not all that good, either. He carefully fiddled with the cards concealed in his sleeve.
He didn’t win the first round, and the second time he drew only low cards and folded immediately. Even when he tried, it was hard not to think about the due date in two days, circling him with fangs bared. About Enne telling him she was alone. About Chez on his old throne. It didn’t help having Scavenger beside him, a physical reminder of how he’d risen while Levi had fallen.
When he found his opportunity, Levi exchanged the cards in his hand for the better ones up his sleeve. It was dexterous, fast. Not even Jonas beside him had seen it. Levi didn’t need to think to switch the cards—the movements were automatic, memorized from a time when he still sat on street corners, dressed as a legend long past, asking victims if they’d like to play.
His short winning streak distracted him the way only hope could. He slid a miniature tower of chips to his pile as the dealer passed him his new card. He grabbed it.
*
The smoke of Dead at Dawn cleared, and Levi stood in front of a white door in the hallway. Dimly, he recalled what Zula had said about the hallway, about the shade that bound him and Enne, but really, all he could think was that he needed to find a particular door. He reached forward and turned the knob of the one in front of him. It opened.
Levi stepped into a room filled with familiar smoke and murky lights. He was in Dead at Dawn, but he hadn’t woken up. The men shouted. A whistle blared. After he pushed his way through the sweaty bodies that reeked of absinthe and cigars, he reached the edge of the boxing pit. Jac lay on the ground. He wore only a white undershirt and his pants—who knew where he’d left his jacket and button-up. The man above him kicked him in the side, but Jac was already unconscious.
“Jac!” Levi shouted, panicking.
The opponent lowered himself to his knees and punched Jac in the face. Again. And again. The floor below them glinted with blood and a missing tooth.
Then the opponent paused and looked up at Levi. He winked. Levi recognized him as the man who’d followed him into the burning building in Scrap Market. Who’d delivered his second Shadow Card. Who’d stopped him from saving Reymond.
This was Sedric’s second reminder. First Reymond, now Jac.
Levi’s heart stilled. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. The dealer must’ve slipped him a Shadow Card, so this was only a hallucination—nonsense, just like anything to do with the hallway or Zula’s “talent” for reading shades.
But if this was real, like a voice inside him warned, then Levi needed to stop it. He needed to wake up.
Levi checked his brass pocket watch, and, judging by how long he’d played Tropps before he passed out, this scene was either happening right now as he slumped unconscious in his seat, or just a few minutes into the future.
He knew only one way to wake up from a nightmare, and that was to die. Levi tapped the shoulder of the man beside him. The second he turned, Levi punched him in the nose. It broke with a satisfying crunch and a gushing of blood.
The man stumbled back into the crowd and cursed. A heartbeat later his knuckles collided with Levi’s jaw. Levi moaned, hoisting himself up with the help of the barrier encircling the boxing pit, and pulled his knife from his pocket with no intention of using it. The second the man saw it, he pulled out his own, with every intention of slicing it across Levi’s throat.
Three punches, one kick and thirty seconds later, he did.
*
Levi gasped and woke to the feeling of cold liquid being poured on his head. He sat up, his skin clammy, and wiped the Gambler’s Ruin out of his eyes.
“I thought you mighta died,” Jonas said cheerily. He set his empty glass down and held out his hand to help Levi up, but Levi shook his head and stood up himself. He didn’t want Jonas to feel the Shadow Card hidden inside his clenched hand.
“Feeling kind today?” Levi asked, tryng to catch his breath.
“Kind?” Jonas echoed. “No one’s ever accused me of kindness.”
Levi’s gaze fell on the table, and he cursed when he realized all the chips he’d won were gone. Whatever. Jac was more important, and if the scene from the hallway was as prophetic as Levi feared, Jac might already be in the ring.
Levi’s reputation was already down the drain, and now he’d fainted in front of another street lord. Jonas smiled, and though they were the same height, it still felt as if Jonas was looking down on him with cruel delight. He’d always liked to watch Levi squirm.
But Levi didn’t care about losing his reputation anymore. Not like he cared about losing his best friend.
“Never mind,” Levi muttered as he shoved the card in his pocket. He grabbed his hat off the ground and turned, trying to find his way to the boxing ring.
He raced down a flight of stairs and into the room from his vision, following the word PIT painted in red on the walls. His wounded leg and broken rib throbbed with each hurried step.
Jac was still conscious. He staggered as the man—Sedric’s man, the same from the vision—punched him in the chest. Levi jolted for a moment, seeing his vision so clearly confirmed, and then he fingered the gun in his pocket. But shooting Jac’s opponent was a big risk—Levi wouldn’t be able to pay Sedric back from a jail cell, nor would prison protect him from the don’s vengeance. Besides, unlike Eight Fingers or Ivory, Levi wasn’t a killer.
He rushed to the referee who sat on a chair overlooking the pit.
“You have to stop the match,” Levi told him.
“Why is that?” the man asked, his eyes never leaving the fight.
“That boy’s only seventeen. He’s not of age.”
“You got a birth certificate?” The referee took a sip from his glass.
Jac tripped. His opponent kicked him in the back. On the other side of the pit, the man who’d killed Levi during his vision cheered Jac’s opponent on. Chills spread down Levi’s back—it certainly wasn’t a sight he saw every day.
He whipped back around to the referee. “Please.” Not something Levi said every day, either.
“Get lost.”
Levi spotted a bar twenty steps ahead, and he didn’t even stop to think—he ran. The bartender shouted as Levi jumped over the counter and grabbed two double handles of absinthe. He charged at Levi, but Levi was already leaping back over the bar and heading for the pit. Levi yanked open the lids and poured the alcohol all over the straw-covered ground of the ring. The referee whistled, but he ignored him. When Levi snapped his fingers, a spark flew out and ignited half the pit.
Levi jumped. He hit the ground and fell into the flames, but as he rolled out into the dirt, the fire on his clothes extinguished. Jac lay on the ground, deathly still. His opponent stared at the inferno with wide eyes, and the crowd above scattered and charged toward the stairs.
Levi grabbed the opponent and twisted him around. The man must’ve recognized Levi from Scrap Market, because he grunted when their eyes met.
“Tell Torren that if he lays a hand on Jac,” Levi snarled, “I’ll burn the flesh off his bones.”
Dangerous words to say to a Torren. It was the sort of thing any of the Torren cousins would take pleasure in doing to him.
Levi pulled the gun from his pocket. Before he could aim it and make a proper threat, someone else’s bullet hit the man between the eyes. The man wavered for a moment, blood trickling down his brow bone, nose and lips, and then he collapsed at Levi’s feet.
Above them, Jonas pocketed his pistol and motioned for Levi to hurry. No time to be fazed by the man shot two feet in front of him, Levi picked up Jac—the fire was gaining, and even if it wouldn’t hurt Levi, it would burn Jac—and carried him to the edge of the ring. Jonas grabbed Jac’s arm over the barrier and hoisted him over.